


~awakening~

by sonshineandshowers



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Kinktober, M/M, Managing, Mental Health Issues, Nightmares, Whumptober
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:01:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26756191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers
Summary: Bright has a nightmare, and Gil tries to figure out how to help him when he wakes up.Whumptober: Waking Up Restrained + Kinktober: Handjob
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	~awakening~

**Author's Note:**

> Whumptober + Kinktober = this experiment. I have a handful of different Kinktober prompt lists and the Whumptober prompt list, so I'm going to cross them over as much as I can. Today's came from [Kinktober](https://jbbuckybarnes.tumblr.com/post/627189398153363456/kinktober-2020) and [Whumptober](https://whumptober2020.tumblr.com/post/628055505485561856/whumptober-2020-updated).

“Dad?” Malcolm calls, padding down the steps for the basement. “Dad?”

Cocoa wavering back and forth in the mug in his hands, he knows he’s not supposed to shout from the other side of the house when he wants his parents, but this is a need, not a want.

“Dad?”

His mother is out at a soiree for the evening, and his sister somehow got a hold of a striking shade of red lipstick when he wasn’t looking. He managed to get it off of her face with his mother’s wipes, yet the rug carries evidence of the crime, seeping into every fiber. _You failed, Malcolm. You failed at being a responsible brother._ The harder he scrubbed, the stains morphed from lipstick to blood and back again before he set off for the stairs.

“Dad?”

He’s thought of over a half dozen ways to explain his shortcomings, but he only hears the disdain in his mother’s voice, sees the glare of contempt on his father’s face. “You know better, my boy,” his father will say, as if Malcolm was supposed to wield the weapon himself. He’d never touched his mother’s makeup counter — he’s not responsible for the rouge in the fine design. “It’s your destiny — we’re the same,” his father will repeat.

When he finds him. The basement doesn’t have that much space to disappear into. Where is he?

“Dad?” Malcolm stands beside the trunk, peering into his father’s office. He’s not supposed to go inside unless he’s welcomed. Not supposed to interrupt unless someone’s in danger of losing a metacarpal. Does lipstick on a Persian rug count?

His leg gets pulled toward the trunk, and he drops the cocoa, shattering fragments of ceramic and splooshing chocolate adding more mess to his tally to atone for. Screech echoing in the basement, no one comes running. He glimpses swampy fingers surrounding his entire calf, dragging him into the trunk.

“No!” he yells, his face thudding off the floor as he’s tipped. “Dad!” He claws at the concrete, trying to prevent his feet from disappearing into the depths. There’s no hope to grasp onto, no savior from this dark time. “Help!”

“Da — “ he tries again, his voice halted by the lid closing on his chin.

* * *

_Clink. Clunk._

Gil doesn’t know what the sound is. Emerging from a shower, his first thought is perhaps Bright got up while he was getting ready.

There isn’t the welcoming scent of fresh coffee, the first thing the kid ever does in the morning. _Maybe he’s making it_.

Dressing in a charcoal sweater and trousers, he heads for the stairs. A muffled “Help!” speeds his heart, propels his feet frantically to the first floor. The _click_ and _clunk_ get louder, stray racket emanating from the walls.

Even when he sees the kid rustling in bed, even when he knows it’s a nightmare, his heart doesn’t quite settle. They’ve fallen into the domesticity of spending their free moments at each other’s places, but it’s all so new, so vulnerable, and Gil can’t stand to see his partner hurting. Bright’s nightmares are an area he’s never found a way to reach into to provide assistance.

Crossing to the bedroom, he sits on the edge of the bed, yet keeps his distance, giving him the space he needs. “Bright, you’re okay,” he says soothingly, rubbing the top of the blanket in place of skin.

Bright’s wrists yank the restraints, the rings clanking together as they tip between slack and tight, unable to make up their mind what tune to play along to. Gil can’t make out much of what he says as he writhes in the sheets. Helpless to provide anything other than his presence, he considers what he might do to help when the kid wakes — maybe offer to make the coffee and go the extra mile with some smiley-faced blueberry pancakes. Maybe a few extra hugs, some reassurance that the darkness doesn’t need to linger throughout the day.

The kid shoots up in bed, eyes wild and panicked. At first, it’s like he’s looking through Gil, a distant stare into phantoms that don’t live in the waking world. Then he seems to come out of it, dipping his head and unclipping the restraints. “Sorry,” he offers, a wan smile perking the corner of his mouth.

“No need to apologize,” Gil says, squeezing the top of the covers. The kid takes a few minutes to collect himself.

“Morning.” Bright scooches closer and pecks Gil’s lips. “The don’t touch advisory only applies while I’m sleeping. Now I’m fair game,” he teases with a smirk.

Whatever nightmare had plagued him seemingly disappeared in the daylight, leaving behind a cheeky grin and a hint of mischief. Tugging his wrist, Gil pulls him into his arms and nuzzles the top of his head. “What?”

“Shower with me?”

“I already did.”

“Too bad — you could have had a hand in this.” Bright pokes Gil’s side with his erection.

“Unbelievable. You were yelling and now you want — “

“You're here now," Bright cuts him off and follows with a long kiss. "Of course I want you. I don’t usually remember my nightmares when I wake up. They happen all the time — part of everyday life. My therapist would probably have something to say about being horny after, but...” He shrugs. "I like sex in the morning. Pretty much any time of day, really. And..." The rest of his rambling disappears as Gil gives in to what the kid wants, fingers dipping under the waistband of his lounge pants and wrapping around his firm cock.

It’s emotional whiplash, flipping from concerned toward arousal. Bright’s teeth nip at his ear, mouth his neck at the top of his collar like it’s any other day they’re short on time and chasing pleasure. Gil can't quite catch up to where Bright has already passed. The kid’s fingers reach his belt, and he catches him at the elbow to still his movement. “Just you.” Gil reinforces his words with a firm squeeze of Bright’s cock. When he gets a nod of recognition, he lets go to slick his hand with spit.

Bright is eager, meeting Gil’s fingers with a rock of his hips, attempting to direct Gil’s hand even faster. Movements more muscle memory than passion or finesse, Gil is practically along for the ride, left to marvel at how resilient the kid seems.

He doesn’t let go of his concern and relax until Bright quivers under his touch, begging as his thumb rounds the crown and shifts into another slide. In the moment of watching his partner’s brow wrinkle, looking for a release just out of reach, and his lips suckling at any uncovered skin, he realizes Bright’s fine — it’s just another morning. He doesn't quite understand how, but he'd rather give his attention to him than consider it any longer.

Gil loosens his hold around Bright’s waist and tips him backward to lay on the bed. It gives him space to trace fingers up his chest, nip one of the kid’s nipples between his fingernails, then complete the trail to his mouth. Part planned, part Bright getting impatient and sucking in the digit before Gil can finish the task, Gil’s thumb plunges into the warmth of Bright’s mouth. The resulting moan around his finger speeds his fist into a learned rhythm along Bright’s cock.

“Don’t stop,” Bright mumbles around his thumb.

It doesn't take much coaxing for Bright to tip over the edge. He jerks, come flooding into Gil’s hand and spilling over onto Bright’s stomach. The grin spreading across the kid’s lips brings a smile to Gil’s face. Letting go of Gil’s thumb with a parting kiss, Bright relaxes with his eyes closed, even looks peaceful.

“Good morning.” Gil reaches up to ruffle his hair. “You might want to hop in the shower so we’re not late.”

“Mmmhmm.” Bright nuzzles into his palm. “Sure you don’t want to come with me?” He rests his hand over the bulge in Gil’s trousers.

“Tonight,” Gil promises, pulling away and standing so he doesn’t give in to temptation. “Out the door in twenty minutes.”

“Aye, aye, Lieutenant,” Bright jokes and trips over his pant legs as he heads for the bathroom.

They’re not _really_ on a tight schedule, but now that he knows Bright is okay, the faster they can get into the precinct, the faster they can get home to where Gil can have him to himself for the rest of the evening.

* * *

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> i've received significant support from so many people in this fandom that help make my writing possible. as this story is E, if you're 18+ and would like to chat prodigal son with wicked awesome people, come on by the [pson trash server](https://discord.gg/TVkmgxV).


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